


Make the New Day Bright

by chrilia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrilia/pseuds/chrilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A summer of house-sitting and cat-sitting for the Targaryens brings Sansa closer to their secrets― and one brooding Jon Snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while, and finally got to putting it into words!  
> It's a modern vampire AU, with very little mention of any actual vampire activity (for now).
> 
> Tags will be updated as we go, and thank you for reading! :)

 

If you asked Sansa about her neighbors, she'd have a lot and a little to say. 

The Tyrells are great. Marg and Loras are two of her best friends, she used to have the _hugest_ crush on Willas, there's a giant rose garden in their backyard, and Garlan's girlfriend makes the world's best apple pie and brings one over to the Starks every big holiday. 

But the Targaryens down the road? Their house is huge and Edward Scissorhands-scary― dragon shrubbery and everything― and the people who live in it are all so _gorgeous_ that Sansa's a bit thankful they don't come outside much. Sansa used to be besties with Dany up until the middle of 7th grade, when Dany switched to being home-schooled and the Tyrells moved into the house next door, but they're friends on Facebook and still text each other every now and then, just never about anything substantial. 

 

So when Sansa's pink-cased iPhone buzzes against her vanity one Sunday afternoon, screen lighting up because Dany is _calling_ , she picks up without even putting down her curling iron.

"Hello?" Sansa said, resting her iron-holding hand against the tabletop. 

"Hey Sansa! It's Dany. Long time no talk, huh?" It's been a couple years, actually, since they'd last heard each other's voice, which is a little sad considering all the 'BFF's and hearts they drew in each other's middle school yearbooks.

"Listen, I know it's kinda crazy but can I ask you a favor?" Dany sounds uncomfortable, more than Sansa ever remembered her sounding, so Sansa tries to encourage her.

"Yeah, of course, go ahead." She unplugs the curling iron, sets it down, and shifts her phone to the other hand.

"We're going away for the summer, but my nephew isn't coming along," She took a crackly breath before rushing through the rest of her request. 

"He doesn't really get along with my cats, and I was just wondering if you'd be free to take care of them?"  

Sansa doesn't reply for a beat, biting her lower lip and trying to make sense of what Dany just told her. 

"We'll be gone for two months, but they're all pretty low maintenance," Dany says during the pause. Sansa remembers Dany's cats― the three of them are more like children than pets and the opposite of 'low maintenance'― so maybe her nephew's included in the roundup of Sansa's new charge.

"Just maybe check by the house every few days to see if everything's still ok?" 

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Sansa replies, if only just to stop Dany from saying more in that frantic, embarrassed tone. "I'd love to help." 

A sigh of relief crackles from the other end. "Thanks so much, Sansa! You're amazing. You can come by anytime today and I'll introduce you two."

"Today?" Sansa glanced at the wall clock, whose thin pink arms told her it was 3 o'clock, almost time for Joff to take her to the movies. "Are you leaving soon?"

"Uh, yeah. Tonight, actually." There's a beat before she goes on. "Sorry for the short notice, I hope it's alright." 

Sansa shakes her head and halfheartedly waves her free hand.

"Oh no, it's no problem at all! Completely fine. I'll go over at about… six?"

Dany thanked her profusely, again, and leaves Sansa to finish curling her hair. 

* * *

About eye level on the door is a finely wrought silver knocker, which Sansa gently raps three times. She wipes off some smeared lipgloss with the back of her hand and waits until she hears shuffling steps that stop by the peephole. Then the door swings open, revealing an interior not much brighter than the exterior and Dany, radiant in a lavender dress. 

"Sansa!" Dany pulls her into a tight hug as if it hasn't been 5 years since their last. 

"It's so nice to see you again," Sansa says, not that surprised at how genuine the comment sounds. Dany always had so much heart, something Sansa misses when she thinks of how petty the other girls at King's Landing High can be. 

"And you! We have to catch up sometime," Dany says, shutting the door after Sansa steps inside, and glances towards the second floor. "Jon's probably up in his room, as always."

There are five large suitcases by the door to the garage and another one coming down the stairs, carried by a tall man who has a streak of blue in his messy bun of white hair. He smiles and nods at Sansa when Dany unceremoniously introduces him as Aegon, her other nephew who's a handful of years older. Aegon confirms that Jon is indeed wallowing in his room, and is likely to stay there until the rest of them return from their two-month trip to Dragonstone. "Some sunshine would do the hermit some good," he jokes. Dany just rolls her eyes.

The house, Sansa thinks as she follows Dany up the stairs, isn't as haunted-mansion as the outside suggests. It's darker than most and a little dustier too, but there's nothing too wrong or strange about that. There are sugary cereals in the kitchen and a massive flatscreen in the family room and plenty of other things that wouldn't be out of place at the Starks' or Tyrells'

They reach the top of the stairs and turn down a hallway, walking past framed photos and  closed doors until Dany stops by the fourth (Sansa counted) room on the left. Dany knocks two knuckles against the door and calls out "Jon" before setting her slim hand on the handle and pushing down. 

Jon seems to have jumped out of bed and tried, in vain, to pick up or hide away the clothes that litter his bedroom floor. His dark curls are messy from sleep and he drops a crumpled black hoodie to run his fingers through them, quickly glancing from Sansa to Dany and then the ground. 

There's nothing strange about the messy room; Bran and Rickon's both look like war zones, it's just that Jon is considerably older than her brothers. Older than her too, by the look of his shoulders and stubble.  Sansa was expecting another rowdy twelve year old boy to look after, not an adult who can't handle a few cats, and tries to hide her surprise. 

Jon taps a soccer ball into the corner of the room to clear the way for him to walk up and shake Sansa's hand. She's not very practiced in hand shakes, but it doesn't take experience to know that this is a good one: firm and sure. He just doesn't make eye contact with her when they mumbles their names and 'nice to meet you's.

Dany's just handing over her house key when a car horn honks and she runs out of the room in a blur of white and purple for Sansa and Jon to follow. She doesn't feel too comfortable walking side-by-side with Jon, so she hurries to keep up with Dany. Sansa's stuck standing next to Jon as the rest of the Targaryens pull out of the driveway, but she smiles and waves as cheerfully as she can as they drive off. 

It'll still be a couple hours till sunset, but standing next to Jon in an awkward silence has Sansa shivering. She says something about going home before it gets dark and Jon nods in agreement, hands stuck in the pockets of his grey sweatpants, eyes trained on the sidewalk. 

Sansa turns and starts the 50 yard journey back home, and she's taken two steps when Jon calls out to her.

"See you tomorrow," he says, his voice lilting at the end so the goodbye sounds more like a question. Sansa turns around, patting the right pocket of her jeans to make sure the key is still there.

"Yeah, tomorrow!"

Jon smiles at that, and takes a hand out to push a curl out of his eyes.

Sansa turns back around and walks back home, grinning the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Bran and Rickon are already sitting on opposite sides of the table when Sansa enters the dining room in her PJ's. Catelyn Stark hovers over the stove, busy cooking up brunch pancakes for her children. A box of strawberries, Bran's favorite, and an abandoned knife sit on the cutting board on the kitchen island. 

"Morning, Mama," Sansa says as she picks up the knife to finish halving the fruit. "Is Dad up yet?" Eddard Stark is usually the first to wake on lazy Sundays such as this, and Sansa loves to work the new espresso machine for him. 

Her mother chuckles, sliding one more finished pancake onto the plate and holding it out to Sansa. "Your father insists on sleeping in today." 

Sansa hums while she scoops a handful of strawberries onto the plate and delivers it to Bran, who's been waiting long enough, judging by how intently he watches Rickon wolf down his stack.

"Eat up, puppy," She says, sitting next to him and rolling her eyes when her little brother practically drowns his plate with syrup. They're a pretty tall family, and it's clear that Bran won't be her little puppy for much longer. She doesn't remember Robb eating so much when _he_ was going through puberty. 

"Robb's coming home soon, right?" Rickon asked in-between forkfuls of pancake. 

Catelyn sets a more modest stack of pancakes in front of Sansa before confirming the date of Robb's arrival. "Four more days." 

Sansa's scrolling through her messages in between bites, intending to shoot her brother a text about how she's looking forward to seeing him again, when a Facebook notification pops up. She taps it and is redirected to a picture of Joff, in sunglasses and a tank top, grinning on the deck of a cruise ship. _He didn't say anything about a cruise,_ Sansa thinks, her hands going numb, _Not even yesterday at the movies._

"San?" Bran's voice is edged with worry for her, and even Rickon looked up from his plate. "Did something happen?" She shook her head, knowing she can't tell them, considering how wary her family is of Joffrey already. 

"I'm gonna go change," She says instead, standing up and pushing her uneaten pancakes and berries to Bran. "I remembered that I have to go do something." 

Catelyn trails after her to the base of the stairs, brows furrowed with worry as she watches her daughter take the stairs two at a time. "Where are you going?" 

"Catsitting." 

* * *

 

Ygritte comes from a really superstitious family, so he doesn't know why he was so surprised by her reaction. Or maybe he does. Jon was so sure that she'd understand, that they had something special enough to handle the truth. Instead she pushed him away and called him a monster, her eyes wide and wild. A reasonable reaction, considering what he revealed to her. She promised to keep his secret, but also promised that the next time she sees him is the time she'll drive a stake through his chest. 

It's not the death threat that cowed him and sent him scurrying to his childhood home, but fuck, even 3 months later he'd do anything to forget that look on her face. 

Three months. He's been hiding out here for three months, just moping around without substance like a ghost, like all the cat hair that floats through the house. None of his family members quite know what to do about his sudden reappearance.

Rhaegar ― calling him 'Dad' never felt quite right ― tried to bring him down to earth at the start by taking the whole family to fancy dinners before giving up. Rhaenys's comforting enough, sympathizing and leaving him alone when appropriate. And Aegon's been letting Jon borrow from his closet, though he's not as broad in the shoulders as his younger half-brother. Aegon has the pale, messy hipster look down pat, while Jon's been cycling through the same 5 pairs of sweatpants for weeks. 

And now they're all gone on vacation, knowing that there's no way to convince Jon to tag along, and Dany's gone so far as to get a babysitter for him. Robb Stark's litte sister, of all people.

"Pathetic," Jon grumbles into the soft mass of his pillow. It's long past noon, but it can pass for late morning with how tightly drawn the curtains are. _At least she doesn't remember me._ He's not sure if he could survive if she recalled anything about him from the summer days he spent in the Stark's backyard, joking around with Robb and Theon and staring at her impossibly red hair. All he's felt these past three months are exhaustion and pain, but the sharp surge of embarrassment he feels when the doorbell rings isn't a welcome change. 

He nearly trips down the carpeted stairs before stopping, frozen, on the last step. _Shit, when did I last wash this shirt?_ He considers running back up to his room to change for the split second, but then Sansa rings the doorbell again and he lunges for the door before she's kept waiting any longer. He knows she has a key, saw Dany pass off her own copy yesterday, so that means Sansa's too polite to just let herself in. Her's is a much better reason than the reason why _he_ can't just walk into someone else's house.

He jerks the door open and there she is, in a wispy blouse and red skirt, looking as put together as he isn't. 

"Hey, uh. Come on in," he manages to say, wincing at how gruff his voice sounds after so much sleep. He leads her to the kitchen, where those demon-cats usually lounge, achingly aware of how gross his breath must be. _I need some juice._

* * *

 

"Hey kitty," Sansa coos before crouching to scratch under his chin. The cat pushes the flat of his face into her palm and flops to the ground, belly up. "Aren't you a cutie!"

"That old beast is anything but." 

Sansa turns to see Jon, elbows propped on the marble kitchen counter and drinking orange juice from the carton. When she raises an eyebrow, he pushes a sleeve up and twists his arm to show her the side of it. 

"Battle scars," Jon remarks, not that Sansa can see any silvery scratches from where she's crouched. She _can_ see the stretch of muscles in his forearms, but she doubts that that's the point Jon is trying to make. 

"What's the name of this monster, then?" Her legs start to tingle, so Sansa switches to sitting criss-crossed to keep petting the cat, who wriggles and purrs under her hand, not monster-like at all.

"Drogon," Jon answers after a gulp of juice. "Dany spoils him rotten. He eats better than I do, most nights." 

"That's because you eat trash," Sansa quips back, glancing at the empty Hot Pocket boxes on the counter. It sounds like something she'd say to Robb, and she's surprised to be so forward with a stranger. 

Jon doesn't seem to be offended; he just shrugs, finishes the juice, and walks towards the recycling bin in the pantry. "You've got me there."

The empty carton drops and clatters against the other recyclables, and Jon walks to where she's seated, warily eyeing the old cat who eyes him right back. 

"Don't fall for it," Jon says from above her, sounding as if he's talking about a lion instead of an overweight housecat. "He's the nastiest of the four."

Sansa laughs and turns, eyebrow raised, to glance up at him, but he's already crouched next to her with his elbows on his spread knees. She can see him up close from here, can see the silver scars by his left eye and how intently he and Drogon start a staring competition. The concentration in his stern grey eyes almost makes her laugh.

"Four?" Those grey eyes flick to her and Drogon wiggles happily, knowing that he's won this round. The gaze is still intense, but softens a degree for her.

"My sister Rhaenys has one too," he says, looking back at Drogon and cautiously poking the tip of his tail. "Balerion, a black stray she found when she was little. He stays outside though." 

He looks around, wondering where the other two Persians are, and Sansa suddenly feels like she's out of her own skin and looking at the two of them from above. Jon's running a hand through his messy, inky curls, the sleeves of his black henley pushed up to the elbows and revealing strong arms. She imagines being wrapped in the warm embrace of them for a second, surprising herself with how lightheaded the image makes her feel. 

Drogon, unhappy with how Sansa has stopped petting him, starts to climb into the lap of her red skirt. Joff bought her this skirt, Sansa remembers, bought it because it was his color and he loves seeing her in his color. That's why he insists that she wear his extra soccer jersey at home games, because "It helps, babe, to see my girl on the bleachers cheering for me." Even if his girl is shivering in the night air. 

Drogon curls up in between her legs, his weight making the skirt's hem ride up a little, and Sansa dully thinks that Joff wouldn't be happy to see all the black cat hair on her―his―skirt. He'd probably be much less than happy that Sansa's sitting on the floor of her neighbor's dining room, alone with a college student who looks at the cat in her lap with a cloudy stare. But Joff's off on a boat, having left with absolutely no mention of the trip to his girlfriend.

And when Jon gets up to grab a wire brush and they talk about nothing while she combs through Drogon's fur, Sansa doesn't really care what Joff would think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all of the kind feedback!


End file.
